Dreams May Come
by a certain slant of light
Summary: Seven years after Leslie's death, Jess has put Terabithia behind him. Even May Belle has moved on, leaving their kingdom nothing but a lonely epitaph. But magics stir within Terabithia that could change Jess's life again... if he lets them. [JessLie]
1. Just Like Christmas

**Author's Note**: I've never read the book "Bridge to Terabithia," so this is entirely movie based. I didn't exactly love the movie, but it made me cry and that's enough to deserve a fanfic. I also really adore the characters, and I'd like to see Jess and Leslie get a happy ending. At most, this fanfic should be twenty chapters. It's nice to write a fic for a fantasy story again, as it lets me stretch my writing muscles into realms outside of anime fandom (which I really need a break from). I hope Terabithia fans will enjoy this! I really loved writing it!

P.S. I have always wanted to start a fanfic with a cliché. Finally, my dream is realized! No pun intended. Yes, this story is perhaps not the most original of concepts. Yes, I'm perfectly okay with that. I'm way too strung out on stress to weave intricate plotwebs, so you'll have to forgive me.

Don't expect fluid updates. My readers will know this of me, and my new ones ought to too. It's summer, so it will come in bouts and spurts.

**A big thank you hug to**: All of my readers and my awesome beta!

**Disclaimer**: I do not own "Bridge to Terabithia," nor any of its respective characters, settings, etc. **This applies to all current and upcoming chapters.**

* * *

Chapter One:  
Just Like Christmas

Jesse Aarons was confused. All around him towered trees: oaks, pines, even the odd sequoia. Twigs crunched beneath his feet, which seemed to be moving by a will of their own. With perplexed wonderment he stepped into Terabithia, morning sunlight peeking through the foliage and splashing onto his face.

He breathed in. The air was heavy, but not stifling. Thin fog wove around the boles of trees, like a curtain of gossamer lace. Cool freshness clung to his nostrils, a dewdrop tumbling from above and splattering onto his nose. He blinked and wiped it off with his sleeve. The crackle of leaves under his heels seemed to echo in the forest's silence, spurred on and swallowed by the mist. All of it felt eerie and surreal, the way Terabithia had felt since Leslie's death.

A jingle rang, permeating the thick air and tickling his ears. He turned, the tune bouncing off the tree trunks and back at him. It sounded muffled and tinny, as if from a different plane of existence all together. Familiarity nagged at his brain, and finally Jess remembered. "_Those are the prisoners of the Dark Masters, rattling their chains!" _

A cold shiver crawled up Jess's spine, his nerves suddenly on end. Years ago he had ripped those stupid wind chimes from the dashboard mirror and flung them into the bush. He remembered it clearly, the days of his breakdown. Those damn chimes ought to be rusting away in a rabbit hole, not singing in the breeze. Thinking on that, Jess realized what made the situation even stranger: there was no breeze. There was no rustling of leaves, no whistle as the wind swept through the trees. Aside from the metallic soprano of the chimes, everything was stagnant.

Something was off. Terabithia was eerier than ever before. Jess wondered if that was even where he was. Everything looked like his and Leslie's imaginary kingdom, but the feeling was horribly missing the mark. Jess's heartbeat pounded in his ears, and he turned to run. But just as he moved, the chiming stopped. Silence resumed, listlessly hanging in the air, clawing at him for perch.

And then another sound, different than the hollow chimes. It was merry, full of life. Jess inhaled sharply, recognizing the noise. It was laughter. It was _Leslie's _laughter.

"Leslie?" he called, voice contrasting the quiet and the distant giggling. "Are you there?"

The laughter came closer, ebbing just out of reach. It grew louder, but never loud. Just nearing him, taunting him forward. He found himself spinning in circles, eyes searching wildly for that shock of blond hair. "Leslie?"

"Come on," a playful voice teased, lost somewhere in the trees. It was unmistakable now.

"Leslie!" Jess ran towards the voice, mute to the snapping of earth beneath him. She was here, in Terabithia. Not like she had been years ago, when her voice was really May Belle, stuck on the log. This was _Leslie,_ and there were no two ways about it.

"Come on, Jess!"

Jess continued forward, running as fast as his legs could carry him. He was the fastest kid in school - the second fastest in Terabithia - but it didn't seem to be enough. Everywhere he ran, he was just shy of her voice. He felt like he was drowning in quicksand, scratching at the surface only to sink farther in.

"Wake up!"

He found himself panting, stumbling over roots and branches. Where the hell was she? He wanted to stop to catch his breath, to quell the pain of sore muscles, but trudged on. If he stopped now, would he lose her again?

"Wake up!"

"I am awake!" he called to the forest, hoping that his voice reached hers. How far was she? Was she even in Terabithia? Or was she somewhere in the eternal jungle that stretched beyond?

"Wake up, Jess!"

"Where are you?" He wound around trunks, ducking under leaves and crashing through bushes. The forest never got thicker or thinner, and he could only barely see where he was going. The fog was intensifying, cloaking the greenery in a rich creamy white. Now he had no idea where he was, whether he was about to tumble into the creek or if he was just going in circles. Leslie's laughter teased him, constantly drawing him forward.

"Wake up!"

Jess felt like his knees were going to snap. Then another sound bubbled through the laughter – splashing. He stopped and looked down, water soaking into his running shoes. His… pink running shoes? He hadn't worn those since he was eleven. "What the - ?"

"Wrong way."

He looked up, the mist thinner here. He was feet away from the creek, and it was flooding. It was flowing over the edges, swirling onto Terabithian ground. Panic set over him. He had to get home. He'd be safe there. But… where was the bridge? He searched on the opposite bank, but the bridge was gone. Instead there stood the tree, the rope dangling precariously over the middle of the swelling water. What was going on?

"Wake up, Jess."

He broke into a run, heading headfirst back into the forest. "Leslie, we have to get out! The creek's flooding!"

Her voice was fading, her vibrant yell now reduced to a whisper. "Wake up."

"Leslie! We have to go! Now!"

"Wake up."

"Leslie!"

"Wake up…"

"LESLIE!"

"Wake up, sleepyhead!" May Belle's voice drummed into Jess's head until his eyes opened, droopy and tired.

"May Belle?" he asked, running a weary hand over his face. He looked down at himself, sprawled across his bed in his pajamas. Now what was going on?

"Dad's gonna be mad if you're not downstairs to do your chores in five minutes," his sister warned. "Why were you sleeping in?"

Jess's eyes traveled to his alarm clock, flying wide. "Damn!" He sprung out of bed, shooing his sister out of his half of the room. "Go away!"

May Belle laughed, halfway out the door. "It's what you get for sleeping in!" she said, disappearing down the hall.

Clumsily removing his pajamas, Jess shoved himself into a shirt and jeans. Nearly collapsing into the hallway, he ran downstairs in a blur, his dream the last thing on his mind.

* * *

Jess sat sullenly through last block, tuning out Mr. Humphrey's incessant droning. He couldn't care less about eukaryotic cells and intracellular digestion at the moment. He couldn't concentrate in English, Math or Chemistry either, but that was for a different reason – he had missed breakfast, and hunger took precedence over subjunctive clauses.

For the first time that day, he could finally focus on what was important – his dream. By two o'clock, he only remembered bits and pieces, but he knew enough of what had happened. It ran through his mind like a film reel: the disturbingly still air of Terabithia, the wind chimes, Leslie's voice, and then lots of running. The last thing that came to mind was the flooding creek, and the bridge having disappeared. But it didn't make sense to it like that, "disappeared." In his dream, it was as if it had simply never been there at all.

It had been a year since he'd dreamt about Leslie. Even then, it wasn't a dream like last night's. It wasn't a nightmare. Most times his dreams were merely memories of the short time they'd spent together. The first time they swung across the creek, or when he grabbed her from Janice Avery's seat on the bus. Even the time she sat on the log, waiting to greet him as he walked home, with ketchup smeared on her face. He remembered thinking for a moment that it was blood, and his heart skipped beat.

Of course that was nothing like the day she died. His heart stopped beating entirely.

In the end, Jess chalked it up to repressed grief floating to the surface (_"like tiny jellyfish,"_ Leslie would have said). After all, the anniversary of her death was little more than a month away. Things always got slightly iffy at this time of year. He didn't do well on tests, and his chores were carried out half-heartedly. He couldn't even draw in the week before, which had always been his coping mechanism. His family understood though, and respected it. His high school teachers didn't bother asking questions, probably assuming that it was "just one of those phases." Jess supposed they never realized that he went through "one of those phases" every year at the exact same time. It was like the twelve days of Christmas, only instead of presents from a big fat man, you got your best friend's death.

Jess shook his head. Bad analogy. It was always better to leave the writing stuff to Leslie.

The bell rang, a shrill sound that struck him like a whip. Wordlessly, he shut his book on the sketch he'd been working on that class (rather than finding out the characteristics of life). Slinging his backpack over his shoulder, he followed the line of students filing out of the classroom. To his chagrin, he was last, tailing the rowdy queue.

He was just about to leave when Mr. Humphrey's pudgy hand clasped over his shoulder. "Jesse?"

Jess turned, trying to hide his look of I-Just-Want-to-Go-Home-and-No-I-Really-Don't-Care-Why-Decomposition-is-Important-Today. "Yes?"

"Which kingdom is composed exclusively of prokaryotes?"

Jess blinked and said nothing, racking his brain for the few moments he had actually been listening. "Uh… cats?"

Mr. Humphrey looked at him sternly over the frames of his glasses. "You were zoning out for a while there. Try to stay alert, all right? I'd hate to see you falling behind in my class."

Jess nodded. "Sure thing."

Mr. Humphrey waved him off, adjusting his spectacles. "And it's bacteria, Jesse."

"Right," Jess muttered over his shoulder. "Bacteria, got it."

* * *

The bus ride home was as dull as usual. It took forty-five minutes to get from the city to the country, and it seemed even longer without Janice sitting beside him. After Leslie's death, Jess and Janice had somehow become friends. She was the one that finally got Scott Hoager to quit picking on him – and nearly got expelled in the process. But she had graduated years back, though Jess still saw her working with his dad at the hardware store that their family now owned. She came over for dinner every once in a while, but Jess didn't see her as often as he'd like to.

The bus lurched to a stop and Jess stood, shuffling through the rows of younger kids. At seventeen, he often got teased for still taking the bus. Though he had his license, his family only owned one vehicle. His father was out most days with the truck, but public transportation never bothered Jess. It was better for the environment, and if he really needed to be somewhere, he could always call Miss Edmonds. She was Jess's other friend, and luckily he had outgrown his crush long ago. Now she was just a companion, someone who seemed to know a lot more about the world than he did.

He stepped off the bus and onto the gravel road, staring down the car-cut path. The bus's wheels squealed as it drove away, a crunchy cacophony of rocks under rubber. When the noise faded into the distance, Jess found himself standing in the same place, eyes fixed on the path to Terabithia. His dream poked into his mind again, Leslie's voice fresh in his ears.

Tightening his grip around his backpack, Jess shrugged and began walking home. "Quit getting weirded out," he muttered to himself. "It's just a dream." He continued on, not sparing a glance back at Terabithia, or at the Burkes' old place.

He shuffled into the house, kicking off his shoes and dropping his backpack by the door. He was exhausted. He felt like he hadn't slept all night, and had spent all his conscious hours worrying about hunger or about his dream. At the moment, he just wanted to run upstairs and curl into his covers, wishing for an empty sleep. Maybe he would wake up in a couple hours and go for a run to clear his mind of all this Terabithia business.

"Hey, Jess," May Belle called from the kitchen. He walked in, seeing her frying up a grilled cheese sandwich. His stomach growled again, apparently not sated by the cafeteria salad he'd had at lunch.

"Hey," he replied. "You got any more of those?"

May Belle stuck out her tongue. "Nope. You want one, you gotta make it yourself!"

Jess groaned and shook his head. She was still the annoying little sister she'd always been. "No, thanks," he said. He felt ready to collapse right there on the dinner table – he was certainly not going to lean over a hot burner.

May Belle shrugged, switching the oven off and flipping the sandwich onto a plate. "Suit yourself." Taking a bite, she leaned against the counter and regarded him quizzically. "You look dead tired."

Jess ran a hand through his hair, unsure of what to say. "Didn't get much sleep last night."

"Nightmares?"

He plucked the sandwich from her hand, ignoring her protests, and took a bite. Handing it back to her, he said, "I guess you could say that."

"Don't talk with your mouth open," she reprimanded hypocritically. Then she asked, "Were they, you know, about… ?"

"No," Jess said. His reply surprised even him, but the lie had rolled off his tongue – tumbling between bread crumbs and melted cheese – before he'd even thought about it. Either way, it was probably for the best. He didn't want to worry May Belle, and he especially didn't want her to go tattling to his mom and dad. May Belle was exceptionally good at tattling.

"If you say so." Finishing off her sandwich, May Belle rinsed her plate and slid it into the dishwasher. "You should take a nap. I'll take over your chores if you want."

"Seriously?" Jess asked, incredulous. For May Belle to do him a favor like that, he must have looked worse than he thought. Still, he was glad she wasn't taking after Ellie and Brenda, who were glued to the TV until the moment they moved out. May Belle barely even glanced at the thing, instead spending her time helping their mom out or drawing. In fact, he realized she was starting to take after him. He didn't know if that came more as a comfort or a horror.

"Sure," she said. "Nothing else to do."

"No homework?"

She shook her head. "Unlike you, I do my work in class."

Jess rolled his eyes. That was May Belle: charitable for a day, obnoxious for a decade. "Thanks, May Belle," he said simply, granting her a short wave and heading up the stairs.

"Anytime," she replied, though he doubted the truth in that.

Walking into his room, Jess couldn't remember the last time he was so relieved at the sight of his bed. Practically ripping off his sweater, he threw himself onto the mattress and tugged his blanket over himself, breathing in the scent of freshly laundered linen. For a moment he thought about Leslie, wondering if she were lurking somewhere beneath his pillow, ready to jump into his dream again. But before he had time to worry, his eyes drifted shut, and he fell immediately into a dreamless, heavy slumber.


	2. The Prince and his King

**Authors' Note**:I spent the last three days in Vancouver, and on the Greyhound bus ride I finally got to finish "Peeps." I'm enamored with Scott Westerfeld's writing, and it's a huge inspiration to me right now. I'm sad that I don't have "The Last Days" or even "The Midnighters" yet. I did pick up a book called "Firebirds" yesterday at Chapters (I love my iRewards card), which is an anthology of fantasy and sci-fi stories. I only just cracked it open this afternoon, but it's enchanting so far. Hopefully I'll be able to draw even more inspiration from it.

I love soft-covers. There's just something about them that I absolutely adore.

**To all those who have read and reviewed**: You guys are wonderful! Thanks so much for all your great feedback and advice, I really appreciate it! I feel that something about this story sets it apart from my others. I don't know why, but it's special to me. And you guys make it that much greater, so I really do thank you!

And in response to Juniper: don't worry. The majority of the stories on my profile are one-shots. Only about five or six are multi-chaptered that have yet to be concluded. But this story takes precedence. (:

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Chapter Two:  
The Prince and his King

He was in Terabithia again, but not like he'd ever seen it before. The whole forest was shrouded in darkness, the moon shining silver slivers through the treetops. Terabithia looked different at night, less magical. Shadows played on tree bark, like a thousand Dark Masters all leering at him. It made him nervous.

Another difference this time was that Terabithia was no longer silent. Owls hooted, crickets chirped. The sound of animals jumping from branch to branch (squirrels, he told himself, not squogers) cracked and fizzed above his head. Along the ground was the skittering of tiny feet, small twigs snapping. It set his nerves on edge, this overdose of ambience. He couldn't decide which he hated more, the misty, silent Terabithia, or this noisy, acheronian place.

Suddenly a light burst through the darkness, quickly obscured by shadows. He watched it bob between the trees, ducking behind bushes. It dodged the moonlight, never illuminated for more than split second, as it made swift circles around him.

"Who are you?" Jess asked, suppressing fear that dared to invade his tone. "What do you want?"

The light disappeared, then the snapping of sticks erupted behind him. He spun, catching a glimpse of the light just as it was blotted out again. He suddenly wished he'd been paying attention in Biology when Mr. Humphrey was droning on about bioluminescence.

"Follow me!" the light called, and finally Jess realized what it was. It was Leslie, her blonde hair evading the moonlight and hiding her face.

"Leslie?"

She stepped into a beam of moonlight, resplendent in the silver streak. She was just as he remembered her, from the colorful high top sneakers to her blinking blue eyes. She looked up at him, a short little ten-year-old with a tall imagination. "Don't make me wait!"

"What do you mean?" he barely finished saying before she swiveled on her heel and sprinted into the darkness. "Hold on!"

Jess ran after her, not noticing that he was wearing his pink shoes again. Leslie laughed, dipping between trees like a slalom skier. How many times had she been here? he wondered. How many times without him?

"Leslie, stop!" he called. Despite his longer legs, he had trouble keeping up with her. It made no sense: for the most part, they used to run at equal speeds. With his seven years and inches upon inches of height on her, he should be at the same speed, if not faster. But he still found himself staring at the heels of her Converse, unable to gain an inch of ground.

"You're so slow sometimes!" she teased.

He ignored her. The darkness around them seemed to dissipate, the trees growing less numerous. Moonlight coated the ground now, Terabithia a brilliant landscape of white gold and diamonds. Over Leslie's taunting, he heard the rushing of water. They were approaching the creek.

Jess's heart beat faster as he began to panic. "Stop!"

"Why?" she said over her shoulder. "Scared a girl will beat you?"

The creek was coming up fast now, a reflective ribbon not fifty feet away. "Leslie, I'm serious! Stop!"

Disregarding him, Leslie laughed and sped her pace. He was panting for breath, arms stretching to grab her and stop her. But she stayed out of his reach, fingers a hair's breadth from her skin. Then, before he knew it, she was jumping into the creek. The water's spray hit him in the face, Leslie disappearing below the shining surface.

"Leslie!"

He waited and waited, but her head didn't bob up. The day at the museum came flooding into his mind. He had been enjoying himself, looking at silly pictures when he could have been saving her. Stifling the memory, Jess looked into the river and took a deep breath. Then he dove in, rushing headfirst into the crashing water.

Jess salt bolt upright in his bed, sweat sticking his clothes to his skin. His covers were a mess, strewn across the floor and tangled in the mattress. Even his pillows lay helter-skelter, and he supposed he had been thrashing in his sleep.

_Sleep…_ "It was a dream?"

Jess groaned. This was his seventh dream in two weeks, and they just kept getting worse. The last couple times he had just slept in, but now he was waking up in the middle of the night? He already felt like he was running on zero gas, any more of this and he'd collapse.

Sick and tired of his stupid dreams, Jess swung his legs over the bed and stood. Peeling off his clothes, he put on a pair of jeans, a t-shirt and a sweater. The clock read two o'clock, which meant everyone was effectually asleep. Luckily, he hadn't woken May Belle with his pesky dreams. Slipping out from behind his blanket-wall, Jess slunk down the stairs. Grabbing a flashlight from the kitchen cupboard, he slid out the door and into the night, prepared to face Terabithia's demons once and for all.

Surprisingly, it wasn't difficult to navigate in the night. He knew exactly where he was going, like a train car on a well-traveled track. He mused that he could make it without the flashlight, and even dared turning it off. But within five minutes he whacked his shin on a tree stump and turned it back on. The track may have been well-worn, but he was still a little rusty.

The path to Terabithia was slightly grown over, but discernable. Storms had knocked some trees down, and those he had to climb over or crawl under. By the time the bridge was in sight, he had torn his jeans in three places, and they had gone from blue to brown. Picking dirt from under his nails (two of which were broken), Jess stopped just short of the bridge.

Above it still hung the old sign, reading a smeared "Nothing Crushes Us!" Despite the sealant he had applied seven years ago, the paint was cracked and chipping. The sun had faded the rich golds to dull yellows, and the letters were barely legible. Overall, he found the sign fitting for Terabithia these days, if not incredibly redundant.

Then, Jess's gaze traveled to the bridge itself. Even when he crossed it once a year, he never took the time to look at it. He shone the light over the planks of wood, most of which were sawed unevenly. The railing was falling apart, a few branches hanging out over the creak and others lying in the center of the bridge. Nails stuck out in some places, bent, deformed and caked in rust.

He wondered when Terabithia had died. Seven years ago, this bridge was gloriously crafted. It might as well have been molded from pure gold, such was its glamour to him. But now it just looked like the shoddy work of a ten-year-old whose dad happened to work at a hardware store. The nailing was clumsy, and the gaps between the boards screamed inexperience. Not to mention it was built on a rotting tree, and there was no telling when it would collapse. Leslie had always been better at building things than him.

Jess raised the light to shine on the banks of Terabithia, but just as the edge of the yellow circle prodded the earth there, it flickered and went out. Jess glanced down at the flashlight, pressing the button and even whacking it a few times. But there was no luck: either the bulb was dead or the battery was. Sighing, he placed it on the ground. Oh well, it didn't matter. According to his dreams, he still remembered the layout of Terabithia perfectly.

Tonight's dream tickled his mind again, begging for attention. Glimpses of shadows came rushing back, images of the Dark Master danced about in his head. Jess tried to shake off the uncomfortable feelings, but they only returned in droves. He pictured Leslie smiling at him, and then plunging to her death into the swirling water. And then he took that fatal dive, only to wake up before he could save her.

Looking across the bridge at Terabithia, a foreboding sensation overcame him. It was cloaked in darkness, just as it had been in his dream. Not even splinters of moonlight shone through; the entire forest was an amorphous mass of black. A tingle of cold fear ran through his veins, mind playing tricks on him. It was as if Terabithia had become the Dark Master himself, now a looming, sinister nemesis. It towered over him, blocking out the moon and the stars, coaxing him to cross into the nightmare.

But more frightening than what lay across the bridge was what hung beneath it. If Jess circled around he could still see the rope hanging in the gap, frayed end swinging back and forth in the night breeze. That was the other reason he'd built the bridge – it hid the rope. He couldn't bear to look at it after what had happened. It felt like having an old friend betray you, because that's what it was. It had killed her that day.

A sharp sound cause Jess to jump, startled. He looked wildly around, searching for the noise. It came again, and Jess realized with relief that it was the sound of a bark. Following that came a whimper, and one that wasn't entirely unfamiliar. Glancing down at his feet, Jess beheld a small white dollop of fur against the dark forest floor.

"Prince Terrien?" he asked aloud, leaning down to pat the dog. He hadn't seen the Burkes' dog in so long, but the little thing hadn't grown at all. He was still the same Troll Hunter Extraordinaire that Jess had given Leslie all those years ago.

The dog yipped, licking Jess's fingers. Jess smiled, scooping the dog into his arms. "What are you doing here?" Sparing one last glance over the decrepit old bridge, he sighed. "What am _I_ doing here?"

Suddenly, a dog panting in his ear and a broken flashlight in his hand, it all seemed ridiculous. They were just dreams after all, and Leslie's anniversary was only a week away. Naturally he was getting a bit overexcited over something that meant nothing. Shaking his head, he adjusted his grip on the flashlight and PT and turned away from the bridge. He began walking away from Terabithia, taking a small, fuzzy piece of Leslie with him.

The trip back to his house was considerably less graceful than the trip from it. Without the flashlight, he stumbled more often than he walked. By the time he sidled back into the house, he knew his jeans were unsalvageable.

Jess put PT down in the kitchen, setting out a tray of leftovers for him to eat. He wrote his sisters and parents a note about their unexpected guest, telling them he'd find out where PT came from tomorrow. Jess bid PT goodnight and headed upstairs, thinking of a tangible excuse for his little midnight adventure to tell his family tomorrow.

Crawling back into his bed, fatigue set in over him. He didn't bother changing out of his dirty clothes or fixing his blanket, instead falling gracelessly onto the bare mattress. Closing his eyes, he exhaled deeply before falling asleep.

* * *

_"I can't believe you're gonna make me wait…" _


	3. The Seventh Saturday

**Author's Note**: Third chapter ahoy! I'm so happy that from here on I can do more dialogue.

I sometimes become discouraged. I know this isn't the most original idea, but I absolutely love this story anyway. I don't want to change it. Changing it would feel wrong and tawdry. Like taking a painting and smearing it. Please accept this story the way it is, the way I've written it and the way I've grown to love it.

Long wait, eh, loves? Sorry, I'm working on two other big stories at the moment, one Harry Potter and one 10th Kingdom, while trying to finish off my Pirates and Final Fantasy stuff. I'm also back in school now (twelfth grade, jeeze), so I'm busy studying for Psych and Law a lot. Hopefully the next update will come sooner than later, but thanks for stickin' around either way!

* * *

Chapter Three:  
The Seventh Saturday

On Saturday morning, Jess got up at a reasonable time. He didn't have any dreams the night before, just a darkness laden slumber. That fact alone was going to help him get through the day; he couldn't bear to face the anniversary of Leslie's death with the burden of a nightmare weighing down on him.

He spent breakfast in silence, gluing his eyes to the window as he chewed his toast. His father took care of his chores that morning, and even May Belle helped him out. No one talked to Jess. No one asked him how he was doing, or if he'd had a good sleep. That question seemed to be popping up increasingly often. It seemed everyone knew about his dreams.

But this morning, at least, he didn't have to talk about them. He didn't have to talk about anything. He'd be too busy thinking.

Jess cleaned up after breakfast, and no one protested. His mother's fingers twitched as he took her plate and washed it, but she had better sense than to interrupt. His mom knew he didn't want to be babied, as much as she wanted to coddle him.

Besides, he reasoned, she would have enough to do cleaning up for their guests. Leslie's parents were coming over later for dinner, as they did every year. They'd arrived in town a week earlier, and had even driven out to Jess's house when he was at school. Jess spent most of the day trying to nap or distracting himself with chores, so no one had the chance to tell him. Apparently that's when PT had gotten loose. Judy and Bill were beside themselves with relief when Jess's mother called and told them about their little refugee.

PT scampered around Jess's heels, eager for a walk. He leaned to pat him on the head, grabbing a nearby shoe and tossing it to the other end of the hall. As PT ran to get it, Jess slipped out of the house and closed the door behind him. PT had a right to go to Terabithia, but Jess just couldn't take him. Any other year he would, but, for some reason unbeknownst, this year was different.

Dressed nicely (as nicely as he could, considering the cumbersome trail he had to walk), Jess entered the greenhouse. May Belle continued to grow flowers, in all sorts of colors and sizes. He picked a dozen violets – the purple ones had always been Leslie's favorites, and May Belle kept them growing all year just for her. With that, he exited the greenhouse and began the pilgrimage to Terabithia.

The journey there was far easier in daylight. It almost seemed like an entirely different path. Jess felt a little stupid for having such difficulty with it before. All the obstacles were easy enough to avoid, so much so that he could have worn nicer clothes.

Reaching the bridge, he made a mental effort not to look at the rope. He hadn't for the past six years and he didn't intend to now. In truth, there was no way of telling if the rope was even there anymore. But something in Jess knew that it still hung, a taunting reminder of Terabithia's tragedy. In some strange way it served as an epitaph to Leslie, but Jess tried not to think too hard on it. Any notion of that rope made his knuckles white with anger, and he didn't want to go choking the flowers before he could give them to Leslie.

Taking careful steps, he crossed the bridge. It seemed much smaller these days, but he supposed he had gotten bigger. And heavier. The boards creaked beneath his weight, and for a moment he feared the entire thing would simply crumble. It didn't have the best foundation, and God knew Jess was no architect. He was a ten-year-old with daddy's hammer when he made this. The fact that it was still standing after seven years of weather-wear was a miracle in itself.

But cross it he did, and the bridge was none worse for the wear. Behind him it lay across the creek, a lazy, immobile giant. He wondered what he would do when it finally did fall. Perhaps he would rebuild it, properly this time, with supports and all. Or maybe he would just let it rot in the creek bed, the damn rope pinned beneath it. Nature would decompose the rest of Terabithia, why should the bridge be any different?

Jess shrugged and moved on. The real Terabithia was at the same time similar and different than the Terabithia of his dreams. Here it was a blend of silence and sound, one that melded well with the morning sun. Here there was no discomfort, fear or shadows. No Dark Master and no wind chimes. There was simply a forest, earnest and natural. Jess mused that all it ever was was a forest; maybe Terabithia had never been there at all.

A familiar object loomed into his view. It was hunched and covered in brown rust, an eroding anachronism amongst the greenery. He approached the old truck, the hunk of dead machinery looking almost juxtaposed against the thriving forest. He peeked into the windows: everything from the seats to the steering wheel was covered in dust, dirt and leaves. The windshield was nearly opaque, and the dashboard mirror had fallen and was lying ironically on the dashboard. No wind chimes could jingle here anymore, even if he hadn't torn them off.

Turning away from the metallic monolith, Jess caught a shimmer among a pile of fallen branches. He approached it, and nearly felt like laughing when he saw what it was that caught his eye: the wind chimes. Their sheen was mostly dull from years of living in the underbrush, but one jeweled bauble still glinted in the sunlight. For a moment he thought he could hear the chimes echoing in the breeze, but brushed the errant thought away. Enough of these stupid dreams. After today, he wouldn't have to worry about them.

He continued on through the forest, marking the telltale signs that pointed to Terabithia. After the truck, it was easy to navigate the old place, not that it had been hard before. Finding Terabithia was like riding a bicycle: you simply never forgot. Especially if your best friend died on a bicycle.

Finally, Leslie and Jess's castle stood before him. Considering it had never been very glamorous in the first place, it didn't look much better or worse. Building it had been a testament to their friendship, and its steadfast will to survive was still one today.

He didn't climb it immediately, and instead stood back to admire it. It was a little lopsided, but they had built it that way. Some of the boards were clearly rotting, others having been eaten by termites. Paint was chipping off the western side, where the rain must have hit it hardest. The rope that had hung from it was gone, nothing but a tiny woven tail hanging from the top. He smiled. Leslie had always preferred to climb the branches instead. She said rope was for babies.

Banners hung from some of the windows, and one especially large one was draped above the door. Most read "PMB" or "Princess May Belle." This, too, caused Jess's lips to tug into a slight grin. May Belle adopted Terabithia after he couldn't go there anymore. She had loved it, every last square inch of it. But, like all kids and certainly not unlike himself, she had left Terabithia behind. May Belle grew older and she visited less often. Now her banners drooped, covered in tatters and faded pink lettering. At least it had lasted longer than Extreme Barbies.

Approaching the castle, he began climbing. Holding the bundle of flowers in one hand, he ascended carefully with the other. If anything, nature had helped the progress. Storms and insects had worn the knots and holes in the wood down, making them easier to grip. Now that Jess was taller (he had quite a growth spurt between the last year and this one) he climbed quicker than ever before, and soon reached the top.

He Jess had to duck inside the castle, because it obviously hadn't been built for seventeen-year-olds. Maybe if Leslie hadn't died, they would have made renovations to it. But even if Leslie were alive, maybe she wouldn't believe in Terabithia anymore. Jess wasn't sure he did.

He placed May Belle's flowers on a wooden stool and looked around. Paintings hung on the walls, maps of Terabithia that he had sketched and colored long ago. He ran his fingers over the weathered paper, feeling it crinkle under his touch. There were trees all over his and Leslie's painted kingdom, with regions drawn and labeled. The one where the old truck was rusting was mostly illegible, and he didn't remember the name anymore. He did remember what he'd wanted to call it – "Toyota." Leslie had her own word for that – "Unoriginal."

Jess's fingers glided over the rivers and oceans he'd painted. In their minds, Terabithia was huge and limitless. In reality, it was a few acres of someone else's land. Rivers were really brooks and oceans were ponds or lakes, but everything seemed so much bigger back then. Especially the tree house, whose height had Jess bent at an uncomfortable angle.

He continued looking throughout their quaint palace. Random things lay everywhere. Papers with old drawings were stuffed in nooks, or blown together in a pile by the corner. Some of Leslie's old books rested tattered and frayed on the ground, pages yellow and brittle. Even a few of May Belle's toys were around, mostly crowns woven from sticks and Barbie torsos. He was happy none of her dolls' heads were in here, because their pointless plastic eyes had never ceased to unnerve him.

He even found an old tube of paint, the hideous puke green color from the set Leslie had given him for his birthday. He had only used it once, and that was to squirt the ugly hue at his best friend. In the end, she wound up smearing split-pea soup paint all over his face. Smiling, he grabbed the old tube and slipped it into his pocket. Even if he didn't find a use for it, the memory was enough.

Back aching, Jess finally grabbed the flowers and headed out to sit on the small sunbathed deck. They had sat here so many days after school, talking about all sorts of things. Funny things, like when PT got his hind quarters stuck in a log, and serious things, like Janice and her father. They would laugh and joke and eat candy, or chuck "grenades" at passing invaders. But, ultimately, this was always the place where they could talk. Here, overlooking Terabithia.

Jess's senses perked when he heard a jingle. For a second he feared he was dreaming, but his gaze followed the sound to the bells hanging above him. Of course. How could he forget that? His dad's keys had once been part of that treetop orchestra, and he'd nearly broken his neck getting them down. Just another adventure in Terabithia, that began with anger and strangely ended with a smile.

The jingling of the bells was soothing, unlike in his dreams. It didn't have the tinny resonance the wind chimes did, or the prison connotation. Rather than stalk him, the sound just drifted on the breeze to his ears and circled him. He felt himself relax in the embrace of the bells, looking over Terabithia. For a melodious moment he could see it again, all sprawling mountain ranges and enchanting creatures. But then the wind died and the jingling stopped, and Terabithia was gone again.

He sighed. Beside him sat the vase that held last year's flowers. Trying not to think of Terabithia, he took out the withered blooms and replaced them with fresh violets. He swept the debris away from the vase's resting place and put it back, anchoring it with rocks so the wind wouldn't knock it over.

Bill's words echoed in his head, and it seemed like Leslie's funeral was yesterday. He ran a hand through his hair, glancing at the flowers and then back at the expanse of forest. "Yeah, I love you too," he whispered, feeling his heart clench.

"Well, that's convenient," came a voice behind him. Jess turned, seeing a blonde girl, his age, sitting and looking at him playfully. Grinning, she clicked her high tops together. "Because here I thought you were avoiding me."

Jess, mouth agape and eyes wide as saucers, felt like every cell in his body was exploding as he barely breathed out one word: "Leslie..."


	4. World Within the Whorl

**Author's Note**: Wow, it's been a long time. To think, the last time I submitted a chapter I was just beginning grade twelve, and now I'm almost finished it! Anyway, in a more relevant story: I went back and fixed some of the errors in past chapters. I've actually had this chapter written for a long time. I'm not sure why I never submitted it.

I did pause on writing this story way back when, because I hit a rather nasty snag in the fifth chapter and the plot stopped dead. I still haven't been able to fix it, though I will try, and I do want to finish this story. I'm so sorry for how long this has taken me. Hopefully I'll have it finished before my next birthday. I'm sorry!

* * *

Chapter Four:  
World Within the Whorl

Jess's head spun. Every bit of the girl sitting on the branch looked like Leslie. She had the same blonde hair, deadly straight and chopped off just above her shoulders. She even had the same sparkling blue eyes, filled with the kind mischief he had never, ever seen in another person. Everything from her gold-white locks to her rainbow Chuck Taylors screamed Leslie Burke – especially the playful smirk splayed across her face.

"Well?" she asked. Her voice jarred his head, his thoughts a tumbling mass of confusion. "Is that all you have to say?"

Jess felt short of breath. "You're not," he tried. "You can't be…"

"Leslie Burke?" Her tone was light, filled with her signature sinful cleverness. "The one and only. You _are_ Jess, aren't you?"

Jess could feel his heart pounding, blood rushing through his veins faster than a car chase. For a moment he wished he was anyone but. "Yeah…"

She hopped down, dust flying as her rubber soles hit the planks of wood. She sat beside him, smiling, and shook him by the shoulders. "C'mon, don't zone out on me."

His head was light, his vision suddenly brighter. He could hear himself breathe, could feel her fingertips digging gently into his shoulders. He stared at her in disbelief, eyes running over her face until he couldn't keep track of his own gaze. "You died."

Leslie let go of him, grinning sheepishly and scratching the back of her neck. "Yeah, about that… Listen, I don't want to explain it here. Will you come with me someplace?"

Scenes of running through a black forest flashed through his mind, then a reel of the creek flooding over. Ethereal, dark laughter bubbled up and out of Jess. He chuckled, shaking his head and feeling the fool. "I'm dreaming."

Leslie frowned. "No, you aren't."

"Oh, come on," he said, laughter still laced with cynicism. "Aren't you gonna tell me to wake up? Or jump into the river with you?"

Rolling her eyes, she shook his shoulders again. "Jess, you aren't dreaming."

He shirked her away, laughter fading. A goofy gin spread his lips, his eyes half-lidded. "God, I'm so sick of these dreams. I wonder what day it is."

"It's Saturday," she told him sternly. "You're awake. This is the day I died."

"Right, whatever you say."

"Jess!" she yelled, angry and exasperated. It wasn't playful or teasing like in his dreams, and so it forcibly caught his attention. "You're not goddamn dreaming! Did you ever dream of me as a seventeen-year-old?"

He thought for a moment, before answering, "Well… no."

"Exactly," she said, and her voice was softer. "Because you couldn't imagine me like that. You had no idea what I'd look like. That I'd look like this."

He looked her over again, still as skinny as she was when she was ten. But now she was seven years older, and she was right: despite his gratuitous imagination, he still couldn't detail her so perfectly. Suddenly his head pounded in rhythm with his heart, and his breathing was shallow again. If he wasn't dreaming, he must be going crazy.

Without warning, anger overcame him. "Listen, I don't know who you are, but this isn't funny."

"Yes, you do," she assured evenly. "I'm Leslie."

"Shut up!" He couldn't believe the words pouring out of his mouth. Jess felt like a ghost, hovering above their castle and watching the exchange with curiosity. "Leslie's dead!"

Leslie rolled her blue eyes, like tidal waves drowning his hysteria. "I don't have time for you to freak out." She grabbed him by the wrist and stood, dumbly tugging him to his feet. "Come with me."

Jess could say nothing. Words seemed irrelevant and pointless. What did it matter anyway? No matter what way, the whole situation would resolve itself. Either the fake Leslie would be revealed, or he'd wake up from this twisted dream. His mind was a complete mess, the kind he didn't have the heart to work through. So, descending from their palace, he stumbled over his feet as she dragged him through the forest.

Or maybe she wasn't an impostor, and he wasn't dreaming. Maybe he was just going crazy. Maybe all those sleepless nights plunged him into delirium, swallowed by the creek and drowning in madness. In no dream could he fathom an older Leslie, now shorter than him and with a much stronger grip. Perhaps she wasn't even there; maybe, by some flight of fancy, he was wandering through the forest alone, letting a hallucination lead him along.

That thought fell in with all the others, joining the party of possibilities in his head. His mind ached, stressed to the breaking point. His vision whisked mindlessly past the trees and foliage as she weaved them through a barely trodden path. He didn't recognize anything anymore. She was leading him past the borders of Terabithia, farther than they'd ever dared venture. Into the realms of the Dark Master.

"It's real, Jess." Her voice permeated his racing mind, cooling the fire in his brain. "It's just a little further than we thought."

He didn't understand what she meant, but was too exhausted to work through the cryptic clue. His brain was slowing down; his footsteps became sloppier. He wondered if they'd stop completely, and he'd fall tumbling to the ground in an effeminate faint. The notion seemed inviting. Any escape from this pseudo-reality did.

Suddenly, Leslie halted in her tracks. Jess, reaction delayed, stopped just short of crashing into her. He mused what that would feel like. Would it confirm his suspicions, and they'd land in a tangled mess, the impostor's blonde wig sprawled on the ground beneath her head? Or would he simply hit air and then a tree trunk, falling straight through his illusion?

"Just give me a second," she said, releasing his wrist to probe a tree with her hands. Before them stood an enormous oak, tall enough to loom at least one hundred feet above their castle. The bole was wide, and even if they both held hands they couldn't reach around its girth. He toyed with the idea that it was the largest tree in Terabithia, even bigger than the troll tree.

"Got it," Leslie's voice chimed, and Jess's gaze returned to her. She had her fingers around a lump in the trunk, pattern peeking out beneath her palm – a whorl. She turned to him, grinning impishly. "Watch this."

She pressed the rise of bark, and it flattened into the tree. Jess rubbed his eyes, feeling mistaken. But when he looked back the whorl was still gone, nothing but ridged bark in its stead.

"You aren't crazy," Leslie comforted him. "It always does that. Moves and stuff. Makes it really hard to find again, I've heard."

His mouth felt dry, his tongue sticky. "What is it?"

"Just keep watching."

He did, and now he was sure he was crazy. From the base of the tree, roots wound out of the earth and up the bark like wooden snakes. They circled just above Jess's head, intertwining and diving back down the other side and into the ground. What was left was a mass of woven roots in the uncanny shape of…

"A door?"

"Yup," she said, placing her hands proudly on her hips. "A door. And guess where it leads?"

Jess shook his head, completely bemused. "To the asylum I belong in?"

Leslie giggled and took his hand. She wasn't rough or insistent this time. Instead, her fingers wove through his in a soft embrace. She squeezed lightly, reassuring him. "Nope." With that, she placed her other hand on the door, palm flat and fingers splayed. With barely any force, she pushed it open. Her hand dropped to her side, the door swinging the rest of the way on invisible hinges. Behind it lay darkness, black, dense and empty. "Follow me."

Her words, ringing so familiar, were the final push as he fell into complete dumbfoundedness. His mind was blank, void of thought and fear. His body moved of its own will as it followed her, fluid rather than mechanical. They stepped into the darkness, tracing the pillar of sunlight that filtered through the doorway. It narrowed and vanished, the door closing and immersing them in coal reality.

It wasn't cold or hot. It wasn't humid or arid. It was simply dark. So dark that he couldn't see his hand in front of his face, and so empty that he couldn't hear his heartbeat. His only connections to his body were his fingers, recognizable only by the warmth that seeped into them. The warmth of Leslie's hand in his.

"Don't be afraid," she said, and stepped forward. Though he didn't know where his legs were – or where the ground was, for that matter – he went along with her. "Just keep walking."

He did, but nothing seemed to grow darker or lighter. He wondered if they were even moving. He couldn't feel his steps, couldn't hear them echoing through the abyss. But wherever the warmth went, he followed. If their hands split, he feared he would be lost in this black hole forever. For a split second he felt his heart clench; he didn't want to lose Leslie again.

"We're almost there," her voice assured, a phantom in the dark. He nodded, or at least thought he did. Swallowed by the blackness, he didn't think of much.

And then a light blinked into view, a small dot the size of a star. Despite its minute size, the sudden spot in the dark seemed to illuminate everything. His eyes adjusted, and as they neared it, he began to see more. He looked down, his legs moving beneath him. Then his eyes went along his arm to where their fingers intertwined. His gaze swept up and down Leslie, watching her move with confidence.

She seemed to know her way through darkness as well as she knew her way through Terabithia. A tinge of jealousy ran through him, quickly vanquished by the fear of the blackness behind him. If she hadn't known the way, they might be wandering in the nothingness forever.

The star grew larger, until it was the size of a soccer ball. Though Jess still couldn't see the ground (and wasn't sure it even existed), he could now make them out in wonderful detail. He could even discern the colors of Leslie's sneakers: an eclectic mix of purple and blue with drawn-on flowers. Her striped armbands finally came out as the proper rainbow they were, not just a muted spectrum.

As the light fattened and widened, his eyes narrowed to a squint. Now everything seemed to glow, all Leslie's colors reflected like a Lite-Brite. He raised his free hand to shield his eyes, face tugging into a grimace. "It's so bright."

Leslie, her own arm blocking the light, laughed. "Yeah, but once we're through it'll be all right. It might take you a few minutes to adjust to the sunlight. It was like that for me when I went to Old Terabithia."

"Old Terabithia?" he wondered aloud. But she didn't answer as the light finally stopped growing, and he realized it wasn't more than ten feet in front of them. It took a new shape, not round as it seemed from afar. Rather, it rose up in a beam with a curved top, the same form and size of…

"The door?"

_"A_ door," she corrected him. "Not _the_ door. And not the same door we came through before, don't worry."

Jess couldn't worry. He didn't have time before Leslie's hand pulled him through the blinding light. For a moment, he was surrounded by harsh white light – the exact opposite of the black world. He wondered if maybe he was waking up in an asylum, wrapped in a strait jacket and surrounded by cushioned ivory walls. But just as his heart began racing, the whiteness dissipated. It faded into forms that grew increasingly familiar; large rectangles shrunk into shapely trees, clusters of circles molded into clouds.

Then it was gone, the only trace a white-golden orb floating above them – the sun.

"Finally," Leslie muttered, squeezing his hand again.

He looked around, bright blinking spots obscuring his vision. Around them towered trees, and beneath them soft green grass blanketed the ground. Birds' chirping tickled his ears, followed by the subtle rush and roar of water. A bee flew past him, buzz lingering in the air for a moment.

"Where are we?"

Leslie led him silently through the forest. Wonderment overcame him at the feeling. Everything held an odd sense of familiarity. It was all dotted with color as they wound through trees, some of which he had never before seen. Spattered among oaks and pines were winding giants with leaves of blue or pink, or flowers peeking out of their knots. The ground was coated in their fallen foliage, and he wondered what he could call it. It certainly wasn't just greenery anymore; now it was also bluery and pinkery.

Still, rather than make his head spin, the colors ignited calmness within him. They reminded him of Leslie's colorful outfits, mirrored in her armbands and shoes as she led them along. He craned his neck to get a better look at them, some reaching hundreds of feet above their heads. The tallest were even bigger than the whorl tree, but much thinner. In fact, their trunks were barely wider than he was, and were bare except for big tufts of leaves at their tips. It looked as if one good gust on wind would knock them over.

"Don't worry about the Q-tip trees," she would tell him later. "Their roots run deeper than a subway station, and way wider."

Finally they emerged from the forest, splashing onto a wide dirt road. Even that seemed familiar, shielded beneath the canopy of green, blue and pink. They walked along the side, rustling strewn leaves with their shoes. Though tracks and footprints lay along the path, their journey went undisturbed. He would have asked why no cars or bikes were going by, but that seemed ignorant. None of the tracks here looked like they were left by rubber tires.

They wound along a curve in the road, stepping through the shadowy net cast by overhanging treetops. Jess kept his eyes on the forest, catching glimpses of squirrels and other creatures he couldn't name. He was about to ask where they were again when Leslie stopped, and for the second time that day he almost fell flush against her.

She pointed ahead and his gaze followed. Far up the road, where the wide dirt path was but a splintery speck of yellow, spread a kingdom. In its center, a castle stood, its towers reaching to the sky. Gold glinted in the sunlight, inviting and purposeful rather than tastelessly lavish.

Her hand squeezed his again, and he found himself squeezing back. A gasp caught in his throat as Leslie told him, "Jess, this is Terabithia."


End file.
